


it’s been ages, different stages

by ohpleaselarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Cuddling, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Kid Fic, Kissing, Like so much, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, Then adults, cute shit, handjobs, it kinda goes through the years, like a lot, like they are kids not that they have them, probably the LEAST angst fic I’ve ever written, sorta drabble, teenage fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: “Harry, do you want to be my best friend?” He asks, tone serious and chin up.“Yes.” Harry murmurs, eyes wide in awe. Louis nods and holds his hand out to shake on it. Harry takes it, and looks a bit confused, wobbling on his feet at the movement.“We’re shaking on it. It’s a promise that we can’t break.” Louis teaches him, and Harry nods along, smile a bit gummy when he gives it, nose still pink from the chill of outside. There’s a bit of snot running down his face.Louis grins and decides right then and there that he will teach Harry everything there is to know.ORLouis and Harry grow up next door neighbours.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 163





	it’s been ages, different stages

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is kind of a drabble and I honestly wrote it bc I had to take a break from the absolutely ANGST FILLED other fic I’m writing right now. enjoy this one cause the next one will most definitely drain ur emotions tf out :) 
> 
> Ps: if you wanna audibly “aww” while reading this fic, I recommend searching up manips of L&H as kids. Cutest thing of all time 🥺

**7 &4 - January**

Louis  _loves_ snow. 

Mummy says when he makes snow angels, real life angels smile at him from heaven, so he is working on his fifth angel when he hears the crunching of snow near him. 

He sits up slowly, struggling a bit with his thick snow coat, blinking through the snowflakes in his eyes to see if it’s mum telling him to come inside. 

It’s not mum, but a small boy. 

“Hello.” Louis says from his spot on the ground, frowning as he looks back towards his house to see if there’s an adult nearby. There’s nothing but the silent fall of the snow around them. 

“Hi.” The boy replies, eyes wide and nose pink from the chill. He’s only wearing one mitten, and Louis stands up, forgetting about his angel making as he steps up to the boy. He’s small, like a baby. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m Harry Edward Styles and I’m four years old.” The baby announces like he’s been practicing. Louis smiles and points to his own chest. 

“I’m Louis. I’m seven. Why are you in my backyard?” 

“It’s mine too!” Harry says, eyes wide and smile wider. His eyes are green. They remind Louis of the grass currently hidden under the snow. 

“No, this is my backyard, see?” He points to his swing set, the seat hidden under snow but most definitely  _his_. 

“Can we share?” Baby Harry asks, and Louis crosses his arms, finding it a bit difficult with his thick coat. He doesn’t want to share his yard. Mummy’s already told him he will have to share with his baby brother or sister when it’s done growing in her belly. He doesn’t want to have to share it with more people. He’s only got one swing! 

“Where’s your backyard? I’m only sharing mine if you share yours.” Louis decides, nodding at his own genius idea. 

Harry’s little eyebrows pinch together and he turns around, pointing at the vast blanket of snow across every backyard around them. 

“Ours are together.”

“Oh, you’re my new neighbour?” Louis asks, head tilting. Now that he thinks about it, he does remember mum saying something about the house next door being moved into. He’d sort of forgotten, but that happens a lot. Mum says schooling will help him pay attention better as he grows. 

“Yeah. Do you want to play?” Harry asks, but his cheeks are turning pink too. Louis looks down at the boy’s single mitten and remembers that their skin can be hurt by the cold snow. He always remembers both gloves. 

“Um, lets go inside first. You need two mittens.” 

Harry looks down at his bare hand and nods, turning to follow. Louis glances back at the boy, finds that he walks in a wobbly way, like he might fall over at any moment. He’s so busy watching that he forgets to watch his own steps. 

Hidden under the snow, the back patio has a small ledge that catches the toe of his boot. He goes toppling right onto the ground. His arms fall out to catch himself, and land harshly against the hard ice covering the concrete, no snow covering the path to blanket the fall due to walking over it. 

Louis rolls onto his bum, hissing as he peels the bottoms of his gloves away to check the heels of his palms. They’re red and painful. Immediately, his eyes sting with tears. 

“Louis! Are you okay?” Little Harry wobbles after him quickly, falling to his knees in the path in front of him, eyes wide with worry. 

“Ow, I fell.” Louis whines, using his glove to wipe his tears. He doesn’t like to cry in front of other people. His friend Stan from school says he hasn’t cried since  _summer_. He’s tough. 

“Are you gonna pass away?” Harry asks, and then his chin is wobbling, tears welling in his bright eyes as he clutches Louis’ snow pants helplessly. 

Louis is so shocked that his tears stop immediately, laughter bubbling up through the pain. 

“No, Harry, I only hurt my hands, see?” He holds his hands out, palms up, so the boy can see his red marks. 

“My great auntie went to heaven when  _she_ fell.” Harry says stubbornly, and then he’s crying. Louis thinks the boy might be a bit of a baby, but he knows that he’s just little and doesn’t know everything yet. Mummy always says that when he becomes a big brother he will have to teach them everything, because when they are born they don’t know anything at all. 

He would call Stan a crybaby, but he won’t call Harry that. He knows the boy would probably only cry more. Instead, he reaches out and wipes at Harry’s wet cheeks, leans in to kiss his cold forehead like mum does to him when he’s sad. 

“Its okay, baby Harry. I’m not going to pass away, I’m only seven.”

“I’m not a baby.” The boy hiccups, but he seems to be calming. Louis kisses his forehead again, just for good measure. 

“I’m older, so you’re a baby compared to me. C’mon, let’s go get you a mitten.” He stands up on admittedly shaky legs and takes Harry’s small hand in his. He thinks he does it so the boy doesn’t fall on the slippery stairs leading to the back door, but he also does it so he himself doesn’t fall again too. 

“Mum!” He calls when he opens the door, stepping inside and cluelessly trailing snow all in the house as he pulls Harry along. The boy looks around curiously, his free hand clutching the soft part of his coat. 

“Louis, I told you to take your boots off-oh, who’s this?” She stops at the sight of the two boys, smiling despite her confusion. 

“This is Harry Edward Styles, he’s four and he needs another mitten.” Louis holds up their joined hands, Harry’s bare fingers cold against his gloves hands, proud to have remembered all of the information. 

Harry waves with his free hand, cheeks pinking shyly as he smiles. There’s holes in his cheeks, and they make Louis smile too. 

“Styles, huh? Suppose I’ll give Anne a ring then. Figured you two might meet sooner or later.”

“Who’s Anne?” 

“Mummy!” Harry exclaims, eyes widening and hand falling from his with his excitement. 

“Yes, Harry’s mum is called Anne. Were you meant to be playing with your sister, Harry?” Mum asks, picking up the phone from the wall and reading a number from a paper sat on the phone table underneath. 

“Gemma said she wanted to watch tele instead and told me to go away.” Harry pouts, looking rather cross about this. 

Tele does sound nice, actually. Louis has been outside for a while and it’s cold out there, so while mum talks on his phone, he unzips his heavy coat and strips down to just his pyjama pants and shirt, tossing the clothing on the floor right where they stand. 

“My mum’s growing a baby in her belly.” Louis says proudly, chest puffing out. Harry’s eyes widen considerably, and he peeks at her as if he can see it. 

“Her belly?” He asks. Louis nods, hair flopping, and that’s when mum gets off the phone. 

“Alright, boys, how about you go watch something until Harry’s mum walks over, yeah?” 

Louis bounds away excitedly, kicking off his boots on the way as well. Harry seems to be copying him, stumbling and stopping many times to take off a boot or unzip his coat. 

By the time he makes it in the living room, Louis already has the tele on, sat on the floor in front of the couch in an attempt to be closer to the screen. Harry mimics him, sitting on the floor with his eyes on the cartoon. 

A few minutes later, mum comes in the room and sits at the armchair next to them, and Louis notices the boy is looking at her instead of the show. 

“You’re missing it.” Louis complains, but baby Harry doesn’t look at the screen. 

“How does the baby fit?” He asks, and mum laughs, waving him over. Harry crawls to her legs immediately, leaning on the arm of the chair. Louis doesn’t want to stop watching, but he follows anyway. He doesn’t want mum to scare Harry, knowing the boy doesn’t know everything yet. 

“Hold up your pinky finger, Harry,” mum says, and the boy does, looking confused, “the baby is about the size of your pinky fingernail right now, and won’t start to push my belly out for four more months.” 

Both Harry and Louis look to the boy’s pinky in astonishment. 

“Does it hurt when it pushes your belly?” Harry asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry much like they were when Louis fell. 

“Um..no, not really,” mum laughs, petting at the innocent boy’s head, “the baby will be safe and sound inside.”

“Can I grow a baby?” Harry asks with a pout, lifting up his own shirt and poking at his round belly. 

“Boys can’t grow babies, Harry.” Louis says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t expect Harry to be sad about it, but the boy looks at him like he’s heartbroken, and his chin starts wobbling once again. 

“Louis, be kind to him, he’s only four, remember?” Mum reminds him, and Louis sucks in a determined breath, reaching out and pulling Harry right into a big hug. He’s the best hugger, mum always says so. 

“It’s okay, baby Harry. You can still have a baby even if you don’t grow it yourself.” Louis says, holding him tighter. Harry sniffles against his shoulder, hands fisted into his thin shirt. 

“I can?” 

“Yeah, you’ll be a dad. Right mum?” Louis looks over to mum, who’s smiling softly at the two boys. 

“That’s right. You’ll both end up being dads.” 

Louis lets go of the boy when he stops sniffling, and then there’s a knock on the door. There’s all sorts of noise as mum opens it up for Harry’s mum and introduces Gemma, who’s eight and goes to the all girls school near Louis’ own school. 

Louis talks to her while the mum’s talk, and he decides that Harry’s whole family is really nice. He’s glad they got them as neighbours. His other neighbour, Mr. Barron, always snaps at Louis when he kicks a football a little too close to his garden. 

Harry stands clutching his mum’s legs, watching he and Gemma talk. Louis waves at him with his biggest smile, the one he perfected for school photos. 

“My mum says I’m becoming independent, so I don’t play with Harry as much.” Gemma says when she sees them waving at each other. Louis frowns, wondering who the boy is meant to play with if he’s only got one sister. 

“He’s only four, he doesn’t know everything yet.” Louis recites, and then turns and walks over to the boy, crossing his arms defiantly. 

“Harry, do you want to be my best friend?” He asks, tone serious and chin up. 

“Yes.” Harry murmurs, eyes wide in awe. Louis nods and holds his hand out to shake on it. Harry takes it, and looks a bit confused, wobbling on his feet at the movement. 

“We’re shaking on it. It’s a promise that we can’t break.” Louis teaches him, and Harry nods along, smile a bit gummy when he gives it, nose still pink from the chill of outside. There’s a bit of snot running down his face. 

Louis grins and decides right then and there that he will teach Harry everything there is to know. 

-

** 9&7 - July **

Louis tosses his rucksack on the floor immediately upon entering his house, ridding of his loafers and his school blazer, nearly finished with his tie when mum rounds the corner with a smile. 

“What’s the rush, love?” She asks. He tears off his tie, then his knee socks for good measure. 

“Mum, I only have seven weeks of summer holiday. Mrs. Yang said so. I gotta make the most of it.” He informs. Left in just his button undershirt and school shorts, he reaches back for the doorknob once more, gives mum a pleading glance. 

“Alright, be back before dark.” She smiles knowingly and steps back into the kitchen, Lottie’s toddler gurgles heard from the room as she’s likely being fed. Louis grins and steps back outside, racing on his bare feet across the grass, hopping over that one hole he fell in months ago, which had resulted in his first ever broken bone in his wrist. 

He rings the next-door doorbell, bouncing on his toes excitedly as he waits. He’s never been good at waiting, and has his ear pressed to the door to listen when it opens. 

“Oh, hello Louis. I’m sorry, I’m not so sure Harry can play today.”

The smile wipes completely off of Louis’ face, shoulders dropping. 

“Why not, Mrs. Anne?” He asks, trying not to seem too disappointed but definitely failing, stomach sinking. Schools just let out today! He and Harry have been talking about summer holiday forever! 

“He’s not feeling too well. I’m just making him some soup and he’s going to rest for a bit.” 

“Can I bring him the soup?” Louis asks, eyes wide. Harry’s got sick a few months ago during winter, too. Mum said it was the flu, and the boy kept throwing up. It was horrible because Louis wasn’t allowed to see him, not wanting the flu to spread. 

“Of course. He was just talking about how he’s sad he let you down.” Anne leads him into the kitchen, where she’s stirring a small pot on the stove. Louis clings onto her pant leg as he lifts onto his tip toes to see. It smells nice. 

“It’s not his fault he got sick.” Louis says matter-of-factly, eyebrows knitting as he watches Anne pour the soup into a bowl, setting a small wooden spoon in for the boy to use. 

“That’s right. I’m sure you’ll make him forget his sadness, yeah?”

“I’ll make him feel better!” Louis says, chest puffing with fierce determination as he sticks out his hand to swear on it. Anne laughs and complies, shaking his hand to seal the deal. 

“Alright, walk slowly and watch your step.”

“I will!” Louis takes the bowl and starts off towards Harry’s room, tongue stuck out in concentration as he watches both his feet and the runny soup in the bowl, making sure not to trip and spill on the carpet below. 

Harry’s door is open just enough for him to press against it and step inside. He bumps his bum against it to shut it back, accidentally making a bit of a slam. Harry lifts his head from his pillow, looking downright awful. His eyes light up upon seeing him, but his frown only deepens. 

“I’m sorry, Lou, I ruined summer holiday.” He says, sitting up and wiping at his puffy eyes. He looks like he may have cried recently. Louis smiles and sets his soup on the bedside table, then climbs onto the bed with him, tackling him right into a big hug.

“Don’t be silly, baby Harry. We have seven weeks to do everything. That’s like, forever!” Louis reassures, pulling back from the hug only enough to smack a wet kiss on his forehead. It’s a bit of a tradition, especially when he’s comforting the boy. Harry giggles, small fist clutching his button shirt. He doesn’t really  _look_ sick, to be fair. His eyes are a bit puffy but there’s colour in his cheek. Louis narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

“You don’t look ill.” He says, reaching up to poke at Harry’s dimpled cheek. It disappears under his finger, and the younger boy glances over to the door with a frown. 

“I think mum and dad are getting a divorce. I heard them last night talking about if Gemma and me will spend Christmas here or at dads.” Harry’s eyes well up as he speaks, and Louis sucks in an anxious breath. He promised to make Harry feel  _better_ , not cry!

“It’s alright, Hazza, we can share my dad!” He says, touching at the soft skin under Harry’s eyes like it’ll stop the tears from spilling over. 

“He’s your step-dad—“

“He’s still my dad anyway.” Louis says sharply. Mark has been in his life for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t care that the man isn’t his real dad, he feels like such anyway. 

“Is it my fault they’re divorcing? Penny from school says her parents divorced ‘cause they were stressed after having her little brother, and  _I’m_ the little brother.” Harry’s tears fall, and Louis wipes them away as they come, pulling him closer. 

“It’s not your fault, please don’t cry.” 

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m older so I know more.” Louis says, and Harry wipes at his tears, lip jutting into a pout. 

“Just ‘cause you’re older doesn’t mean you know everything.”

“Yes it does! Hey, did I tell you about how I spilt juice on my uniform during lunch last week?” 

Harry nods, but Louis launches into the story anyway, maybe exaggerating a bit. He thinks it’s fine, though, because the younger starts to laugh after a while, tears drying and making way for toothy grins. When Louis finishes that story, he moves right on to another, determined to keep his best mate laughing rather than crying. 

Twenty minutes after dark, Anne leads Johannah to Harry’s room. The woman came prepared to scold her son for not coming home on time, but both mum’s stop in the doorway and give each other knowing smiles. 

Their sons lie tangled together on the bed, Harry clutching Louis’ front, Louis’ arms around Harry’s waist as they’ve fallen asleep. The soup has gone cold and uneaten on the bedside table, but both boys are smiling softly even as they dream. 

-

** 11&9 - May **

Harry has his first asthma attack a mere hour after getting home from school. 

Louis doesn’t know much about asthma when the day starts, to be fair, so when he’s chasing Harry around holding a worm in his hand, he doesn’t quite understand why the boy starts to cough. 

“It’s gonna crawl in your ears and give you worm babies!” Louis says, carefree grin falling when he sees Harry stop running and clutch his chest. 

He sets the worm gently back in the grass and skips over to the boy, touching his shoulder in confusion. 

“What’s wrong?”

“S’hard to..b-breathe.” Harry chokes between coughs, and his hands are all shaky when he reaches for him, eyes wide and scared. Louis realises he isn’t pulling a joke, but actually having trouble breathing.

“Come on, let’s go get your mum.” Louis says, voice shaking a bit as he tries to stay calm. He remembers when Fizzy fell and scraped her knee the other day, and mum was very calm as she helped her find a plaster, and it made Fizzy calmer as well. 

He takes Harry’s hand and pulls at him, but the boy seems to be having trouble walking as well, breathing getting louder and harsher. 

When his little face starts going pink, Louis forgets to stay calm. 

“Mum! Ms. Anne!” Louis shouts towards the house, and tucks Harry’s arm over his own shoulder, half-carrying him towards the house. The back door is open to let in the nice breeze in, and Anne’s head sticks out a moment later. 

There’s lots of shouting, then, and Louis is crying a bit hysterically as Harry just keeps getting pinker. He keeps trying to hold the boy’s hand but mum pulls him away. He kicks and screams as Harry’s loaded up into an ambulance and he only stops kicking and screaming when mum promises they’re going to follow him right to the hospital. 

They sit in the waiting room for ages, and Louis drinks three juice pouches and saves the fourth for Harry. He doesn’t stop crying the whole time, though it’s reduced to silent tears and sniffling. He pushes away everyone who tries to comfort him, angry that he wasn’t allowed to be with his friend the whole way. 

Anne steps into the waiting room what feels like years later and says Louis can come see him. He rushes over to her immediately as Anne tells his own mum she can drive him home. 

Louis has been in a hospital room once or twice for his own injuries as he can be a little reckless sometimes, but he’s never seen Harry in one. The boy looks small, bundled up against the big pillow, a tube stabbed in his hand. Louis walks up to the side of the bed cautiously, stomach twisting with nerves as Harry’s shiny eyes follow him. 

“He has asthma. He’s going to be fine, love.” Anne reassures. Louis bites his lip and holds his juice pouch out to the boy, who takes it and finally smiles. 

“M’sorry I chased you too much and made you almost die.” Louis says, hiccuping a bit. Anne immediately starts saying it’s not his fault and the attack can happen anytime, but Harry’s eyes widen and he reaches grabby hands towards him like a baby. The elder scrambled up onto the bed immediately, mindful of his tube and cuddling up to him. Harry kisses his forehead, and he smiles at the gesture he so often does himself. 

“I got a inhaler.” Harry says, and Louis twists in his arms to see the medicine. It looks like a strange shot contraption, and he winces. 

“What’s it for?”

“I push the button here and hold this part to m’mouth when I can’t breathe. It gives me air and then I won’t pass out. The doctor says my lungs can have trouble sometimes and this will help them out.”

“Oh. Are your lungs shit?” Louis asks bluntly in a moment of eleven-year-old boldness. 

Anne immediately starts squawking and reprimanding him, but Harry’s eyes go wide as saucers and he bursts into shocked giggles, and that’s all that matters.

-

** 13&11 - February **

Bellies full of cake, crisps, and pizza, Louis and Harry sit bundled in blankets on the couch while Brother Bear plays on the tele. It’s a new movie, and they hadn’t seen it in the cinemas last year, so Harry should most definitely be watching it instead of staring out of the window next to the screen in front of them. 

“You’re missing the talking animals, Harold.” Louis complains, reaching over to flick his shoulder. Harry looks at him, and his cheeks are pink. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles, but still doesn’t look to the movie. He’s staring at him now, and it’s not exactly a new thing, but Louis quirks an eyebrow, noticing the downturn of his lips. 

“What’s up with you? You can’t be sad on your birthday, H.” 

“M’not sad.” 

“Then what’s with the eyes?” 

Harry’s cheeks only get pinker and he shuffles on the couch to face him, legs stretching out over his lap. Louis holds his ankle, yanking him closer. The boy slides easily, giggling. 

“Okay, okay, you know how you kissed Grace last year during lunch?” 

“Yeah.” Louis says slowly, unsure what his first kiss has to do with anything at all. It was horrible and not even slightly enjoyable, but he’s kept that fact to himself, not wanting to pop Harry’s little romantic bubble he has when viewing milestones in their lives. 

“Well, I was thinking about how I haven’t had  _my_ first kiss yet, and I’d rather like to have one so we’re even.”

“You’ve only been eleven for, like, half a day.” Louis laughs incredulously. He isn’t surprised, though. Harry’s always wanted to do the same things as him. It’s usually cute, like when he tries to play football with him and Stan but mostly just fumbles around, or when he tags along to ride bikes and gets so exhausted keeping up with them that he just falls right asleep the moment he gets home. 

Then there’s times like now, when Louis would rather him not copy yet. He hates the thought of little Harry going out to kiss someone. It makes some sort of protective ache settle in his gut. One second he’ll be kissing someone and next second he’ll be dating someone and there will be no time for the two of them anymore. It’s far too early for that. 

“So? Help me get my first kiss. It’s what I want for my birthday.” Harry’s eyes glimmer with mischief as he uses the holiday to bargain. Louis’ taught him well. Fuck. 

“Who would you even want to kiss anyway?” 

Harry’s shoulder lifts as he looks away. His cheeks are still pink. Louis narrows his eyes, wondering where on earth the boy could have thought this up. He’s still a kid, really. Louis’ only thirteen, as well, but he wasn’t thinking about kissing girls at eleven. 

When he really thinks about it, he never really does, so he tries to avoid thinking about it. 

“I just don’t want to be left behind,” Harry speaks up after a minute of comfortable silence, “I don’t wanna be the kid who hasn’t done anything. Like, Stan and Oli and Dave all had their first kisses too.” 

“We’re all two years older than you, baby Harry, there’s no rush. Dave only got his last month.” 

The boy doesn’t look sated. He pouts at the tele, but doesn’t seem to be even actually watching it. 

“I’m not a baby anymore.” Harry mumbles, and he’s tense all over, eyebrows furrowed. 

“You know that’s not what it means,” Louis sighs, but the boy doesn’t budge, “this kiss thing is really buggin’ you?” 

“You’re my best mate. I’ve done everything two years earlier than you did. You helped me with my addition in maths before I’d even started the subject, then you taught me to ride a bike before I could even really learn with the trainer wheels.” He’s right, but Louis still hates the idea. Hates the idea of Harry kissing someone. Why does he hate it so much? 

Unless he can find a way to solve it without him kissing some random girl at school who will want to date him. 

“You really want your first kiss? When?” 

“I dunno. Like, as soon as possible?” Harry shrugs, looking back at him hopefully. Louis nods. Harry wants his first kiss, and Louis doesn’t want him to, so there’s really only one solution here. 

“Fine.” He says, then leans across the small space between them, holds Harry still by his chin, and pecks him once on the lips, lingering there a moment so it actually counts. 

When he pulls back, the boy’s eyes are wide, mouth slacked in shock and cheeks frantically darkening to a red, rather than the pink it’s been this whole time. 

“There. Now we’re even.” Louis says, and fumbles for the bag of crisps on the table in front of them, popping one in his mouth. His stomach is swirling wildly, and he’s not hungry in the slightest after the cake they’ve just had, but he feels like he needs to be doing something with his hands. 

“Are we, though? The boys will want to know who it was.” Harry says after two agonisingly quiet minutes. Louis shrugs, totally casual. 

“So tell them it was me. All the girls in your year will be jealous that your first kiss was someone in year nine.” He waggles his eyebrows, and finally works up the courage to look at the boy. He’s smiling, fingers pulling at his lips. 

“You don’t think it’s weird?” 

“Course not. You’re my best mate, I’d rather me be your first kiss instead of some girl carrying herpes.” Louis bumps their shoulders together, and Harry laughs. The younger’s only just taken the STD classes, and they’d spent most of last month accusing each other within their friend group of having various diseases. 

Harry’s laughter calms, and then he darts across the couch and nuzzles up into Louis’ neck, arms sneaking around his middle. 

“Thanks for being my first kiss, Lou. I love you.” Harry mumbles, voice soft. Louis smiles, setting down his crisps and hugging him back, nose to his short spiky hair. 

“Love you too. Happy birthday.” He replies, and wonders idly why hugging his other mates doesn’t make him feel as nice as it does with Harry. 

-

** 15&13 - September  **

They have their first actual big fight somewhere in mid-September. They’d been spending all of summer holiday together, as they have pretty much their entire lives. They’ve had little fights here and there, of course, but it’s always been just that. Little fights. Ten minutes of huffing and puffing before one of them sighs and apologises. They’ve never had a genuine fight. 

Then Harry meets Josie. 

Josie lives a few blocks over, and he’d taken her to his year’s little formal prom of sorts at the end of the academic year. After that, they sort of kept talking to each other, and then Harry eventually started to ride her bus to her house, hang out and study or whatever the fuck, then walk the few blocks home. 

And Louis  _hated_ it. 

He didn’t have any legitimate reason why he hated it without sounded like a possessive prick, though, so he never mentioned that he hated it. He’d always just plaster on a smile and change the subject when she was brought up. Tug Harry into a cuddle as often as he could since the boy’s ’Josie time’ cut into about an hours of theirs. 

Then about a week ago, it sort of blew up a bit. 

“ _Oh, that reminds me, Josie and I went to the park yesterday and—“_

“ _I don’t care.” Louis had burst, staring hard at his Spider-Man comic. He could see Harry’s eyes fly to his from his spot on the floor, but he didn’t look over._

_ “What?” Harry had asked, sounding in disbelief. Louis’ never snapped at him. Never seriously.  _

“ _I don’t want to hear about everything_ you and Josie _ did, alright? It’s, like, all you can talk about sometimes.” _

_“Well, she’s really nice. You’d know if you accepted any of my invites to come hang out with us._ ” 

“ _Why the hell would I want to do that? I don’t need to hang out with more younger kids than I already do.” The words tasted sour coming out, and it’s probably because he didn’t actually care that Harry is younger than him. Had never cared. If anything, he’d assured the boy on multiple occasions that he didn’t._

“ _You’re being a prick, Lou. I thought you’d be happy that I’m hanging out with people and not following you around like a puppy as much.” Harry’d said , voice a bit shaky. Louis’ knuckles went white with how tightly he was gripping his comic._

“ _Maybe I don’t want you following me around at all.” Louis had muttered, and it wasn’t true even a little bit, but he was defensive, stomach turning as he was left wondering why he truly hated Josie in the first place. He’d never actually even met her._

_“Fine.” Harry said, and Louis only looked up when his door had slammed_

A week later, and Louis still doesn’t know what really happened. They’ve never gone this long without speaking. Ever. Even when one of them would leave for holidays, they still would keep in touch over pay phones or emails. It’s never been like this. 

And Louis’ never been one for patience. 

A mere hour after everyone’s settled in for sleep, he drops out of his window and into the warm summer night. Harry’s house only sits a few metres from his own, but the boy’s bedroom is on the opposite side, so he sneaks around the backyard, pausing at the back porch to pat Dusty’s head where she’s lounging. 

He reaches Harry’s window, and folds his arms over the sill, frowning at the closed drapes through the glass. 

Somewhere around the 14th tap, the drapes shift and Harry’s bleary eyes meet his through the window. The boy frowns, and opens the drapes, lifting the window with a small squeak. It’s not too terribly noisy, as they had oiled it a few weeks ago so they could sneak out and spend the night in Harry’s treehouse. 

It had been totally worth the reprimanding the next day. Louis’ heart aches at the memory as Harry kneels in front of his window, matching his position with an unimpressed frown. 

“I was jealous, okay?” Louis huffs immediately, voice a murmur so he doesn’t wake anyone, “you keep spending all this time with her and it made me realise you’re growing up andgoing to date girls and I’m just this guy who enjoys spending time with his thirteen year old neighbour more than anyone else he’s ever known.” 

Harry’s frown turns a bit more neutral, cheeks pinking ever so slightly. 

“And, like, you’re my best mate and my favourite person in the world and I’ve been so fucking bored this last week and I can’t handle not knowing what you’re doing and not doing it all with you. I don’t care that you’re younger and you aren’t following me like a puppy. If anything it’s the other way around, and I only said that because I’m embarrassed about how jealous I am of some girl you barely spend a few hours a week with so I’m sorry and please forgive me for being a dick.” 

“You’re so stupid,” Harry says, voice just as soft to keep quiet. Louis winces, nodding his agreement, but looks up to see the boy is smiling, “how could you ever be jealous of her? I spend most of my time with her talking about  _you_. Dunno if you noticed, but I sort of spend more time with you than my own sister.” 

Louis chews on his lip, stomach doing floppy things a bit. He hates admitting he was wrong, but more than that he hates hurting Harry, so he’s willing to get through it. 

“And I’m not dating Josie. I-I don’t think you need to be worried about me dating girls.” 

Louis frowns, reaching over to touch his hand. 

“Don’t be silly, you’re going through puberty and soon enough they’ll be all over you—“

“I think I like b-boys, actually.” Harry stops his defence, eyes somewhere between them. Louis blinks in surprise, jaw slacking a bit. 

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “how do you know?”

“Because every time we watch a film and you say a girl is pretty, I always notice that I was watching the guy instead. And I never, like, think about girls. A-and—“

“Hold on, how long have you been thinking like this?” Louis interrupts, truly baffled. 

“Um, sort of always, but I didn’t really think about it until..until my eleventh birthday.” 

It takes Louis a moment, but when he realises, his eyes widen and his heart stops a bit. 

“Oh.” He whispers, remembering their innocent little peck on Harry’s couch. Harry’s  _first kiss_. That little thing started all of this? 

“And I never wanted to tell you ‘cause I didn’t want to make it weird. Like, I didn’t want you to think I was trying to date you or something. I’m also worried you might hate me and, and-“

“Okay, stop rambling and budge over. I’m coming in.” 

Harry complies, and Louis climbs into the room, landing a tad unsteadily with a thud. Then, he promptly tackles the boy right into his bed, arms winding around him tightly. 

“Lou!” Harry gasps once they’ve landed in a heap of limbs, breathless. Louis rolls his eyes so hard it hurts a bit, and plants a huge wet smack on his forehead. 

“I could never hate you, idiot. I don’t care if you’re gay, I’m the one who gave you your first kiss, it was my decision.” 

“Yeah, but..” Harry trails off, voice muffled against his shirt. He’s hugging back just as tightly, though, so it’s probably fine. 

“But nothing. This doesn’t make us weird. You’re still the same you and I’m still the same me. S’long as you realise how many more dick jokes I’m going to make now.” 

All at once, Harry relaxes under him with a giggle, head turning so he can nuzzle his neck a bit. 

“Okay.” He agrees, and it sounds a bit choked up. 

“Love you, H. I’m glad you told me.” Louis says, murmured into his hair, arms tightening around him. 

“You’re the first to know,” the boy replies, “love you too.” 

Louis feels relaxed, finally after a week of tense radio silence, all is right in the world. They’re talking again, there’s no awkwardness, and his kiss led the boy into a spiral of sexuality realisation. 

Swallowing thickly, he knows this won’t change anything. He’s thought about it casually before, about Harry fancying boys, but he never thought to question it more when he caught the boy eyeing him shirtless for a beat too long, or when his eyes were glued to Ryan Gosling all muscly and nearly nude on the tele a few months ago. 

He knows them falling asleep tangled together like this isn’t strange. That even though it doesn’t happen with any of his other mates, that tomorrow his mum will wake up to him missing, and instantly know he’s snuck into the younger boy’s bed. It won’t be the first time, or the fifth, or even the hundredth. 

Only now, he’s distinctly aware of everywhere they’re pressed together, and he wonders if maybe the reason Harry’s never talked about dating anyone is because he wants to date  _him_. 

Worst of all, he wonders why the thought doesn’t feel terrible in his head. 

-

** 17&15 - April  **

Harry’s still in his bakery apron when he burst through Louis’ door and shoves papers in his face. 

“Lou, Lou,  _look_!” He exclaims, shaking all over from excitement. Louis blinks and drops his blackberry, taking the papers to see it’s an announcement for xfactor auditions next summer in Manchester. 

“What’s the fuss?” Louis asks, laughing at the affronted look that immediately plasters Harry’s face. The boy pouts heavily and shoves him over, crawling into the bed with him and taking the papers, reading over them with sparkly eyes. 

“I think I’m gonna audition.” Harry says in a dreamy voice, chock full of big dreams and naïve hope. Louis watches it all happen, and randomly wishes he enjoyed being with Hanna even half as much as he enjoys these little moments with his best mate, his girlfriend’s texts forgotten in the sheets below them. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Will you do it with me? We can become big stars together! Like a duo band, like—“

“Alright, chill out. Singing is your thing, remember? I want to teach.” 

It’s true, at least mostly. Harry’s always had a voice. There’s been countless times Louis will pick him up from his shift at the bakery and find him singing along to the radio while he closes up, voice bouncing beautifully off the walls of the empty shop. Part of him always thought the boy might go on to do it for a living, always thought he could make it big if he really set his mind to it. 

Louis enjoys it as well, will sing along with him in the car or while they study in his room, but he usually finds himself quieting to hear his mate, catching himself staring after a few long minutes. 

He blames it on the cherubic curls that randomly appeared the moment Harry started letting his hair grow longer in the last few years. He’s gone from baby Harry to a heartbreaker quicker than Louis could blink. 

Speaking of, he reaches over and tangles his fingers into said curls, listening to him rattle on about auditions and how he really thinks he could do it and what not. He can’t help but notice that somewhere along the way, he stopped thinking of the boy as his little friend, and more as  _his_. 

Who knows? Maybe the boy will go on to xfactor and become wildly successful and forget about him. It’s funny. He can’t imagine Harry being anywhere but here in their little village with him. Louis always thought he’d like to get out and explore the world, but he finds he doesn’t mind the idea of staying right here. Where they’ve always been their whole lives. 

-

** 19&17 - October  **

Louis’ phone rings somewhere around the second paragraph of his essay. He sighs and lets it ring out without looking, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He hates writing essays, but they’re sort of an integral thing in uni. 

Perhaps if he’d known that he never would have applied. 

It’s not true, of course, he’s just stressed. And alone in his nice arse flat while London bustles on outside. And a tiny but also maybe huge part of him is homesick. 

Not for the quiet of the village outside of his mum’s house, no. Not for  _home_ , per say. He’s homesick for his lack of cuddles and breakfast in bed and stupidly loud laughter while watching comedy shows at 2AM. 

His phone rings again, and he answers without looking to see who it is. 

“Yeah?” He sighs heavily into the receiver, glancing at the time on his laptop to see its nearly ten at night. Who the fuck would even dare-

“Sorry, did I interrupt your last minute coursework?” Harry’s rumbly baritone comes through the phone, and it’s probably embarrassing how Louis’ entire body and voice simultaneously soften. 

“Sorry, H. Just stressed. How’d you know I’m doing coursework?” 

“Aren’t you always?” Harry laughs, and Louis smiles, holding his phone tighter against his ear as if it will bring him closer. 

“Suppose, yeah. How’s Milan?” 

“Ah, about that. Did you say you wanted milk or dark Italian chocolates?” Harry asks, and the buzzer rings a moment later. 

“Don’t care, long as they’re actually from Italy. Hold on, my food’s here.” He stands up from the table and pulls on Harry’s soft jack wills hoodie to protect from the quickly cooling London air. 

“Oh yeah? What’d you get?” 

“That Korean BBQ place down the road. You know, they started delivering a while back. Maybe you’d know if you weren’t so busy being a big star and all.” Louis holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder and digs into his wallet for some cash. 

“You should let the guy in, it’s cold out.” 

“How do you know it’s a guy? Seems oddly presump—“ Louis yanks the front door open, and his heart climbs right up into his throat. 

“Hey, Lou.” Harry says, voice coming in through the phone but also in the space between them because he’s  _stood_ _outside_ , a duffel on his shoulder and a trunk at his feet and he’s fucking taller because all he seems to be doing these days is getting taller and broader and prettier. 

“I can’t believe you pulled this shit on me.” Louis says, hanging up the phone with a stab before he jumps up and can only pray Harry catches him. 

He does, because he’s never failed to, and laughs into his shoulder and hikes him up, somehow managing to get both of them and his luggage inside before crashing them onto the couch. Louis may or may not be crying, but it’s not his fault. He hasn’t seen Harry in person in three months. Three fucking months. 

He spent most of the year on the xfactor tour, then came home for a mere few weeks before he and the one direction boys went off to do more shows and promotional stuff and everything all over the world that wasn’t here and holy shit it’s been  _three months_. 

“God, I missed you.” Harry says, and he sounds choked up as well, arms tight around him. Louis threads his fingers through his curls, heart fluttering in his chest. He has to take off his glasses, tossing them on the table next to the couch so they don’t break from how tightly they’re holding each other. 

“I missed you too. How are you here? I thought you were gone for another week?” 

“I decided to come home early. Told them my flat mate likely had the place in a tip and needed a home cooked meal before all the takeaway kills him.” 

Louis laughs, wiping away his tears and pulling away to pinch Harry’s nipple, decidedly not looking at the room around them. Harry calls it a tip, he calls it chaotic redecorating. 

“Did you bring me chocolates? Cause if not I might have to kick you out. Dunno if I can keep you around if you don’t keep your promises.” 

“Course I did. We shook on it.” Harry rolls his eyes and bends over to root around in his duffle. He sets two packages of Italian chocolates in Louis’ lap. Dark and milk. 

“How long are you home?” Louis asks, next. Can’t  _not_ ask. Harry bites at his lip, smile soft. 

“Our debut album releases next month, then we start our own tour on December 18th.” 

Louis nods along, trying not to be disappointed that it’s not longer. He’s proud of Harry, so proud it hurts sometimes, and he deserves a million tours and a billion fans and a trillion hit songs, but after the last year and a bit of the singing thing, Louis’ realised just how dependent he’d become on the guy. 

He’s spent nearly everyday of his life with Harry Styles since he was seven years old, and now that isn’t all just for him. The entire world wants that. Go insane just for the chance to get his photo or a signature, and Louis has to remember that Harry doesn’t  _belong_ to him. 

Has to remember that call he’d gotten from Simon fucking Cowell a few months ago, when the man had asked him exactly what ‘the nature of his and Harry’s relationship’ is. The arsehole had casually mentioned that Harry is on a strict contract, and can’t be known as anything but desirable by his fans. 

Louis still hasn’t told the boy about that call. Doesn’t ever want him to hear that shit. To know that Simon Cowell believes being gay will fuss up his career. As if. 

“So two and a half months?” He says, looking up from the chocolates clutched in his hands back to the boy. 

“Yeah. Two and a half months. Just us. No paparazzi and pretending.” 

“Please, you love the attention,” Louis rolls his eyes, “what do you mean pretending? Pretending to like Caroline Flack, you mean?” 

He expects Harry to laugh, just like they both did over Skype months ago when the papers had first released the ridiculous story. Instead, his eyes glaze over a bit, shoulders dropping like there’s weights upon them. 

“Yeah. Exactly like that.” He says, and it sounds sort of bitter. Louis frowns and sets his chocolates aside, scooting up to him and placing a hand on said shoulder. They’re tense, muscles all bunched up underneath his fingers. For the first time since little Harry was thrust into this business, he sees the effects of it. In the circles under his eyes, the stress under his fingers, the pain in his eyes. 

“What’s wrong, baby Harry?” Louis asks, voice soft. Harry’s face falls just a bit at the petname, almost like he’d forgotten how it sounds, before he tilts in and drops his forehead to Louis’ shoulder. The elder scratches at his scalp gently, other hand pressing into the tense muscles of his shoulders. 

“It’s everything I always wanted, but not at the same time,” Harry voice mumbles from his shoulder, “like, I get the incredible gigs and the fans are so supportive it’s overwhelming sometimes, but at the same time I don’t get to really be myself.”

“How so?” 

“They have us, like, turn into these certain personas. Like, Zayn isn’t allowed to talk during interviews half of the time to keep up his mysterious role, and Liam isn’t allowed to goof off sometimes to seem more like the dad, and Niall gets really, really homesick every few weeks but he can’t let anyone know because he’s the happy carefree one.”

“And you?”

“And I’m the flirty womaniser, so I wink at pretty interviewers and let fans write their numbers on my hand, and Caroline was only the first. She’s not going to be the last girl they, like, set me up with, and it’s going to be like this for years. The  _whole_ time.” Harry’s shoulders start to shake, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, holding him tighter as anger bubbles up immediately. 

“Who decided this? They can’t—“ he starts to pull away to rant, but Harry holds him tighter, closer. 

“They can, though, and the funny part is that I don’t even care. Because they can set me up with a million girls and turn my image into a straight slag all they want but I still know who I am, and so do the boys, and so do you. And-and I’m good at it, is the thing. The pretending thing, because I’ve been doing it for fucking years and I dunno I guess I just don’t want to do it anymore.” 

“You don’t want to sing?” Louis asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He wants to pull away and search the boy’s eyes, but Harry’s holding him so tightly, like he’s afraid to let him go. Maybe this is the only way he can admit how he’s feeling, with his face hidden like this. 

“No, I don’t want to pretend at home anymore. I can handle doing it for the band, but I can’t come home between tours and do it here as well. Not here. Not with you.” 

“Why’re you pretending here?” Louis’ voice comes out at a near-whisper, heart pounding in his chest. Harry’s head turns on his shoulder, cold nose pressing to the side of his neck. 

“I think you know. I think you’ve known for a long time.” 

“Known what?” Louis’ voice breaks on the second word, and then Harry lifts away from his shoulder, but he doesn’t back away. Instead, he brushes his nose down Louis’ jaw towards his chin, and with one small lift of his head, he fits their lips together. 

Louis forgets to breath, let alone move, until Harry cups his cheek with a little choked sound that sounds almost like a plea. 

He kisses back, eyes slipping closed as tingles fly up his spine. Upon receiving a response, Harry tilts his head, mouth opening to deepen the kiss, and he keeps making these noises between every soft smack, almost like a whimper, and Louis can’t believe it feels like this.

Never believed it  _could_ feel like this. It’s so much different from that little peck on Harry’s eleventh birthday. So much different from the snogs Louis had with Hanna while they dated two years ago. And every other snog he’s had besides that. He wonders if it’s because they were girls, or just because they weren’t  _Harry_. 

It’s different in the way it feels almost familiar. Like something he’s thought about deep down but never wanted to make happen. He regrets that, now. They should’ve done this years ago. Decades ago. The day they met, even. 

And Louis doesn’t think he will ever stop. Not for anything. Not if a bomb went off outside. Not if the queen kneeled over and the monarchy decided to crown he himself. Not if—

The door buzzes. Again. 

They break apart at once with a wet smack, and Louis takes in Harry’s pink swollen lip and his darker cheeks and his bright bright eyes, chest heaving. 

“The—the K-BBQ.” Harry says, voice decidedly a few octaves deeper than usual. 

“Right!” Louis quips far too loudly to be casual. He scrambles up from the couch and snatches the forgotten note from the table, opening the door and setting it in the delivery man’s hand, grinning a bit too much on the side of manic as he takes the food. 

Back in the living room, he sits back in his spot and opens up the bags, setting out the food containers, opening it all up and getting it all ready to be consumed. He’s working on opening a disposable fork, but can’t seem to tear open the small package with his shaking hands. He’s hot all over, breathing erratic as he’s acutely aware of every minuscule movement and sound Harry makes. 

“Lou,” Harry breathes eventually, and it sounds just a tad too close to a a whine. Louis’ head whips over immediately, and Harry’s clutching the cushion of the sofa under him with tight fists, hair missed from Louis’ hands and the outline of his hard cock dastardly clear in his chinos. 

“F-fuck.” Louis hisses, tossing the fork somewhere in the food and climbing right into Harry’s lap. This time when he kisses him, its downright dirty, and filled to the brim with want and years upon years of sexual tension. 

Louis fists his hands in his boyish curls and yanks his head back, exposing his neck. He’s at it immediately, latching on and making a mark right there in the open where any camera could catch. 

“Lou, Lou, p-please, oh my god-“ Harry’s babbling like he can’t handle anything, hands running over every inch of skin he has access to. Louis shivers and reaches down between them, cups Harry for the first time. 

Well, technically not the truth. He’s hit Harry in the balls on multiple occasions, but he hardly things that counts. It was never like this. Never him just touching the boy’s hard dick over his layers. To be frank, he’s never done this to another boy at all. 

Maybe it should be weird, but he’s felt Harry’s hard cock before. Not with his hands, but he’s woken up a handful of times with the thing pressed to his back or his stomach. Times when teenage Harry couldn’t control it, or just had an enjoyable dream. 

If he had any doubts that he wanted this to begin with, his mouth  _watering_ at the feeling would have soothed them over. 

He palms him, and arousal curls hotly in his gut at the responding sound, a deep moan right from the boy’s throat, vibrating against Louis’ lips. Immediately, he reaches down and unbuttons his chinos, then his own jeans. Then they’re both free from their confines. 

When he rocks forward and wraps a hand around both of them, Harry moans, eyes flying down to see. Louis peeks down as well. 

He’s never thought of a cock as pretty, but it’s the word that comes to mind as he looks down at his hand wrapped around the both of them. Harry’s fucking  _leaking_. 

He pumps them once and shudders, eyes flicking up and meeting the boy’s. Harry’s pupils are absolutely blown, and he clutches Louis’ thighs like he’s going to fall. 

“I’m not..not gonna last long.” Harry warns, and it’d be so easy to poke fun at him for it, and maybe he would if they were doing literally anything else and he said that. 

Instead, it makes Louis squeeze them both, start to jerk them earnestly. It feels insanely good. 

“Neither,” Louis pitches forward, trails kisses over his jaw, “so pretty, baby.” 

He’s never said it like that, not without ‘Harry’ following it. Not like a genuine pet-name. Not like a  _romantic_ one. 

Harry seizes up with a gasp, and comes on the next tug over their cocks. Just like that. Louis pulls him through it, using the sticky mess to lubricate himself. He whimpers and shakes in Harry’s lap as he follows along moments later, adding to the mess. 

His head drops to the boy’s shoulder, and they both catch their breaths, collapsed together. After the afterglow fades a bit, Louis swallows thickly and leans back on the boy’s thighs, grabbing one of the takeaway napkins and cleaning them up. 

“Say something.” Harry murmurs, hands still clutching his thighs. Louis tucks the boy back into his chinos, then starts on himself. 

“How long have you wanted that?” He asks, tossing the napkin once he’s finished and looking back up so their eyes meet. Harry’s cheeks are pink, and the blush is spread even to his ears. 

“You won’t like it.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. Maybe he should get up from his lap, but it’s rather comfortable, so he stays and combs Harry’s hair from his forehead. 

“Tell me.”

“Um..what year was my eleventh birthday again?” 

Louis’ hands halt, and his jaw slacks. Harry looks two seconds from either bursting into laughter or tears. Louis smacks him in the arm. 

“What the fuck, Harold!” He exclaims, and barely darts out of the way when Harry reaches in for a returning slap. There’s a beat of silence, and then Louis scrambles out of his lap and shrieks as he flies out of the room, the boy hot on his heels. 

Somewhere upstairs between the toilet and hall closet, Harry catches him and crowds him against the wall. 

“You’re a menace.” The boy says, breathless from the chase.

“I love you.” Louis replies, equally as breathless. Harry’s eyes flash, and he leans in, brushes their noses together. It holds different meaning, suddenly, those three words they’ve uttered so many times before. They both can feel it, even with the shift going unsaid. 

It shouldn’t be this easy, not when they’ve spent their entire lives as nothing but friends. Growing up together and seeing each other at their worsts, their bests, and everything in between. 

And yet, it just is. 

“I love you, too.” Harry says, dimples digging into his cheeks as he kisses him again. Somehow, it’s even better than the ones they just had. 

Louis pulls him closer and clasps his hands together around the boy’s neck. Right then and there, he decides to never let Harry go. To be with him like this and love him until the day he dies. 

He shakes his own hands together, and the promise is made. It’s one he doesn’t intend to break. 

**Author's Note:**

> Insta: ohpleaselarry . Lemme know what you thought in the comments below. I may or may not write a sequel and continue the timeline further but idk yet.


End file.
